


Lost & Found

by Tweenie



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Gen, M/M, Modern Era, Post-Anime, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 16:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2075544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tweenie/pseuds/Tweenie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the events of the anime, Sebastian is cast as Ciel's eternal butler. However, it soon becomes clear that Ciel is not a welcome addition to the infernal regime. Tragedy strikes. Everything changes. SebxCiel. Modern AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Asphodel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Welcome, readers! To clear initial confusion, this story is being told in first person, with alternating points of view between Sebastian and Ciel. Each chapter will give you a little heads up as to whose brain is being probed. This chapter is in Sebastian's point of view. Additionally, each chapter will have its own set of warnings. Well, here goes. . . 
> 
> Warnings: character death, religious themes

I couldn't say that I had been very eager to return home. It hadn't been my intention to return on an empty stomach either. However, with the soul that I so craved cradled in my arms, I did return. Shamed and starved, I carried him to the deepest depths of Hell. It was immediately clear to my brethren that he didn't belong there. His rebirth was indeed an impure one. Without my protection, he would have been obliterated from the very start. 

He didn't take well to his new surroundings the first couple of weeks. Hell hadn't the capacity to be anything other than abysmal, even to those that were bred there. It wasn't long before my eternal master was demanding we return to Earth. I tried my hardest to explain to him that the surface was no place for us to live, but he would have none of it.

Defeated, I took him up in my arms once again and swept him off to the human realm. It was then that I found myself to be an Earthbound demon with no alternate purpose, other than catering to the every whim of my tiny, halfbreed master. We took temporary refuge in a crumbing, abandoned castle. The young master was clearly unimpressed by the rubble and debris which comprised most of the tragic structure. Given that Ciel Phantomhive was dead to the world, it was the best we could do for the time being, since the stubborn demon child refused to leave England. 

My young master spent his days playing chess with himself (on a set that he insisted I retrieve for him). I, myself, had next to nothing to do with my time. Within moments of our arrival, I had already cleared a great deal of the debris from the castle and tidied up everything I could. I had nothing to cook, nothing to clean, nothing at all. . . 

So, I stood beside my master, like the dog I had become, just waiting for a command. I was consumed with agony. . . oh, how it ached. A hunger, which I could not satisfy, began to eat at my very core. The meal I so desperately yearned for sitting peacefully beside me. 

“Play me, Sebastian,” the young demon requested one dreary afternoon. It was the perfect day for a demon; a low lying fog dancing ominously over the hillside, whilst angry, black clouds made their way overhead. The air was so heavy that you could feel it bearing down upon your body.

I took a seat across from him, finding the whole prospect of playing against him redundant and tedious. He liked to consider himself the king of games, but against me, he was little more than a pawn. Still, I followed my orders dutifully. It wasn't long before thunder began to roll, forebodingly, against the rotten stone walls. There was a presence in the air, one that I couldn't exactly place. The very stench of it turned my stomach. I kept my guard up throughout the entire game, but remained collected, so as not to alarm my young master. Keen as he was though, he too sensed that something was amiss. 

“What is it, Sebastian?” he asked bitterly, having lost the game. A flash of violet lightening blinded us, followed quickly by its booming stalker. What was once a light drizzle, was now a furious downpour. The sound of renegade droplets echoed throughout the great hall, descending down the stone walls in hasty little rivers. 

“I suspect it may just be vermin, my lord. Shall I take care of it?” I requested, in hopes that he would allow me the opportunity to do something other than stand idly at his side. 

“No, stay here,” he insisted, a worried furrow forming upon his brow. He was ill at ease, for good reason, it seemed. Each moment that passed, the storm only grew heavier. The air around us became so thick, it was difficult to breath. Had the young master still been alive, he likely would have suffocated due to his asthma. 

I was a bit bemused when the young lord walked over to me and wrapped his slender arms tightly around my own. He didn't explain his reasons for behaving so oddly, he didn't need to. It wasn't my place to question him. I allowed him to cling to me as though his very life depended upon it. He glared up at me, almost expectantly. 

“Something doesn't feel right, Sebastian,” the boy grumbled, turning his gaze to a broken stain glass window, on which perched a raven, trying to find refuge from the rain. 

“Indeed, I feel we are no longer alone here, my lord,” I explained, keeping my demonic eyes Eastbound, where I sensed the intruder's presence. His grip on my arm tightened. Rather than order me to go off and eliminate the problem, as he usually would, he seemed to be intent on keeping me close to his side. He was instilled with a fear that he had never had as a human. It was almost as if he was being driven by a survival instinct. Quite honestly, it was a bit unsettling to see him so concerned with his own well being. Although, it was clear from the look on his face, that he was not comfortable with it himself. 

“Do you suppose it's a human?” he asked, almost sheepishly. 

“No. Whatever it is, it is not human,” I explained, “I'm afraid I am going to have to eradicate the infestation, my lord.” His angry glare told me that he wasn't fond of the idea of me leaving him here alone. I, however, didn't mind the idea. What did I have to gain out of this arrangement now? 

Before my master could issue a command, the East wall came crashing down. I threw myself over my lord, shielding him from flying debris. When the dust finally cleared, in place of the destroyed wall, stood a being, cloaked in crimson, a golden crown atop his ginger head. I recognized his black eyes immediately. His angular, pallid face wore a sorrowful frown, as he took several small steps towards us. My young master coughed, trying to adjust his eyes to the foggy visage before him. 

“Lord Berith. For what do we owe the pleasure of your arrival?” I remarked, rather snidely, as I took a leisurely stance in front of my master. The boy didn't move, only stared at the being before us; looking a bit horrified. 

“I'm here to carry out an order directly from our Prince. Regrettably, your contract with this boy is void, “Sebastian Michaelis”,” the scarlet clad demon said, his voice sinfully soft and calm. His contrite demeanour seemed to suggest he wasn't taking pleasure from his duties. Fortuitous, considering that I would likely not gain pleasure from mine either. 

“What do you mean, “void”?” my young master demanded, craning his neck so that he could see Lord Berith clearly.

“For what purpose would one demon need to serve another demon? It is counter-productive and ridiculous. I'm afraid, as scriptor and notary of all contracts, I am forced to put an end to yours,” Berith explained, taking another step forward. I could tell by his aura that he was just about to strike.

I swiftly moved to disable him, as he jolted towards me. His sunken eyes met mine as we collided. He smiled at me briefly, before disappearing in a flash of red. I turned to block an attack I knew would be coming from behind, but he wasn't there. I turned back around to find him floating just a couple feet away from me, holding two copper stakes in one hand and three in the other. With one, effortless toss, I found myself bound to the floor, two of the copper stakes piercing my hands. I tried with all my strength to pull myself from my magical restraints, but found it to be fruitless. 

Berith came a bit closer and reinforced my bindings with two more stakes through each of my feet and one final stake through my head. I could no longer turn to face him, merely sense his presence. My master, who had remained fairly quiet up until this point, had suddenly realized that I was losing this fight; something he surely thought he would never see. 

I felt Berith's aura leaving me and approaching my master. I continued to struggle against my restraints. The ground shook, pieces of the castle began to crumble, but still I remained bound. I knew I would not be released from Berith's spell until he, himself, released me. However, my young master was in danger and I simply couldn't allow harm to befall him. So, I continued to struggle. 

“I'm dreadfully sorry, little one. There simply is no place in Hell for weak mortal hybrids. Your existence is an abomination. Thus, I must extinguish you,” Berith murmured, sadly. I forced my head to turn as much as I could, the stake tearing through my flesh. All I could see was Berith's back and my master's feet, as he tried to back away from the approaching threat. 

“Sebastian. . please. . help me. . .” I heard my young lord plea. I let out a terrible screech, one that was more primal than anything that had escaped my mouth in centuries. It was then, that Berith drew a long golden spear from the thick, spring air. It was a weapon I recognized all too well. I struggled against my restraints even more vigorously, but to no avail.

“Sebastian!” my lord screamed desperately, as Berith drew the spear back. Then, there was silence. A deafening silence unlike any that I had heard before. My lord fell to his knees, blood pooling around him. All I could do was watch as Berith took the spear from his chest and walked over to where I was imprisoned. My lord fell forward, onto the cold stone floor. 

“You know what this is, don't you “Sebastian”?” Berith asked, his voice still laced with regret, as he stroked the blood soaked spear. I hardly even heard him, my focus remained fixed upon my lord's motionless body. I could still sense the slightest glimmer of life within him. 

“It is a Vel; the very same Vel used by the divine Murugan. It contains the shakti of the Goddess Parvati, herself. A weapon created for the sole use of slaying demons. That is its one and only purpose. You cannot save him now,” Berith explained, though I needed no introduction to the weapon he spoke of. With his point clearly made, he pulled the stakes out from my appendages.

I crawled, like a lost puppy, over to my dying master; turning him over so that I could see his face. Blood oozed from his lips. My sigil, once so bright in his beautiful azure eye, was beginning to fade. It was in that moment that I realized why he had been so afraid; he had sensed his own demise. His eyes began to lull, as if he were just about to fall into a well needed rest. 

“I failed you, young lord. . . I'm sorry,” I whispered, as his eyes closed. It was the first time I had uttered those words and actually meant them. I turned to look at Berith, but he was gone. As I turned back to gaze at my master's ethereal corpse, I discovered that he was no longer flesh and bone, but a mass of pale grey dust. I could still make out the shape of his face, it looked surprisingly peaceful. 

A strong gust of wind burst through the great hall, taking Ciel Phantomhive with it. As the dove grey ash floated about in the air, the storm outside lifted and the sun began to shine. The colours of the stained glass danced across the room, illuminating Ciel as he rose higher. The raven, having returned after the fight, now sat on the window sill, singing its monotonous song. 

I sat there, on the damp floor, still covered in Ciel's blood and remnants of ash. I was free once again. . . but at what cost?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: That was pretty dark, yeah? No worries, this was the set-up for the actual story, which is a bit more light-hearted than this chapter was. I hope you enjoy the rest of the story. Thanks for reading, please comment if you have the time. ^w^
> 
> Berith & the Vel: Baalberith (aka Berith) is an actual demon in popular demonology. He is said to be a grand pontiff and master of ceremonies, as well as a notary for pacts made between humans and demons. He has also been said to be the keeper of public archives in Hell. He has been described as a Duke with 26 legions of demons under him. The Vel is the sacred weapon of the Hindu deity, Murugan, used to slay the demon, Soorapadam. 
> 
> Title: As I like to do, I have made the chapter titles thematic. This time around, the chapters will be represented by flowers. In Victorian England, in order to say things that could not, or should not be spoken, many people used flowers to communicate. This cryptic language was known as “the language of flowers.” In the language of flowers, asphodels mean “my regrets follow you to the grave.” Obviously, they are meant to represent Sebastian's feelings regarding his failure to protect Ciel.


	2. Peach Blossom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is also in Sebastian's POV. Hope you guys enjoy it!

Without consciously having made the decision to go there, I found myself in England; a place I rather detested. The times had undoubtedly changed, much more quickly than I had expected them to. In all my years, humans had remained fairly consistent. They often had an occasional innovative idea, which would inevitably change their miserable lives, but not until the information age did things change so drastically. 

The industrial revolution came and went, in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, steam was replaced with petrol. Technology evolved, and with it; mankind devolved. Manual weapons gave way to automatic weapons. Hand grenades were replaced with missiles and atom bombs. The world became a battleground of segregation and hate. It was all merely an instant to me, and before I knew it, a century had gone by since the demise of my former master. I was facing the start of yet another horrid millennium. The Earth had become the devil's playground; full of more debauchery than ever before. One would surmise that a demon, such as myself, would revel in that fact. Alas, I found little pleasure in any of it. 

There was a profound emptiness inside of me that no human soul could fill. Its source became all too clear to me about 123 years ago. It was Ciel. No human before him, nor any human after him could torment my soul the way he had. I had spent over a century haunted by his voice, dominated by his stare, and plagued by his final plea. Even there, near the Eastern shores of the Thames, I could hear him. . . calling out a name that no longer belonged to me. 

My feet carried me along the shoreline, further and further East. It wasn't long before I realized I was only a few kilometres outside of London. I stopped dead, with the intention of turning back. I swore to myself, while I watched Ciel's ashes dance in the vibrant beams of sunlight all those years ago, that I would never return to London. It was a vile place. However, as I took my first steps West, the familiar smell of that wretched city came wafting through the air. A scent I hadn't smelled in many years, yet one I remembered vividly. I stopped, allowing myself to take it in. 

As I did, an altogether different scent came drifting by. One that was not just familiar to me, but one that I had long since coveted. I assumed myself to be imagining it entirely, but I could not resist finding out for certain. So, I turned back towards London and set off, abandoning the tedious footwork in favour of flight. 

In mere minutes, the scent grew tenfold. The sigil on my left hand began to tingle playfully. Soon, I was soaring over London, seeing for myself the things I had only seen in pictures over the course of the past century. None of it mattered one bit to me, my focus was set on one thing; the source of that scent. 

As I began to descend towards the streets, I took the form of a raven. The people beneath me were no different here than anywhere else in the world. They paid no mind to me, just as I paid no mind to them. The scent that I had been following was growing stronger as I tracked it farther North. My heart began to race as the thrill of the chase struck me. It was close. . . so very close. 

I was so delightfully confused. As I drew closer, it became clear that it was the same scent I thought it had been. However, there was absolutely no way that it could be what I thought it was. . . could it? 

I came to a stop outside of the second level window of a flat in Shoreditch. Inside the flat, was utter chaos. Children running about, screaming their little lungs off at one another. An older woman, with her salt and pepper hair tied back in a haphazard bun, took a toy from one of the young girls.

“Honestly Violet, you are too old to be behaving this way! You are two years older than Maddy, let her play with the bloody toy! You can find something else to do!” the woman screamed, handing the toy to the younger girl, presumably Maddy. Meanwhile, Violet proceeded to pout in the corner. The older woman ignored her efforts and continued tidying up the flat, which resembled a post-apocalyptic daycare. 

“Miss. Beasley! Julian kicked me!” a small, dark skinned boy shouted, running out from one of the back rooms, holding his shin. The older woman scoffed, but continued to tidy. 

“Julian, what have I told you about using Rajesh as your punching bag! Knock it off!” 

“What?! He ran into my foot!” Julian replied, sarcastically, from down the hall. 

“No, I didn't! He kicked me, and it really hurt!” Rajesh screamed. I was beginning to grow impatient with this situation. I knew the scent was coming from this flat, but it was very clear it wasn't coming from any of these simpletons. I flew around to an adjacent window, with the hopes that what I was searching for would be waiting for me. 

I presumed what I saw in that room to be an illusion. . . It was my young master, looking every bit like himself (save for his modern attire), lying on a narrow bed, wearing an irritated grimace as he listened to the commotion outside. I kept my eyes on him, expecting him to vanish at any moment. Just then, a tall adolescent boy came sauntering into the room, running a hand through his pale blond hair. 

“Hey Ciel, I brought you back some crisps,” he announced, tossing a bag of crisps at my former master. Ciel caught it and popped it open, savouring the salty treats. “Sounds like Julian's being an arse again, eh?”

“Apparently,” the smaller boy replied. There was no question that this was my late master. The question was; how and why was he reborn? He was nearly identical to his previous form; with the same eyes, hair, voice, build, name, and most coincidentally, age. It was almost as though he was calling me there, so that I might reclaim my place by his side. 

“They had better give it a rest soon, we have school tomorrow. If they keep me awake again, I swear I'll stab them in the eyes,” Ciel grumbled. He was clearly joking, it was nice to see he still had that dark sense of humour that he had as my master. 

“Calm down, killer. I'm sure Beasley will keep 'em quiet,” the older boy said, ruffling Ciel's hair gently. “And if she doesn't, I will.” Ciel chuckled lightly at the boy's threat. It was quite nauseating, watching him laughing so joyously. 

I glanced around the room, searching for a way to get close to him. Given that he was not plagued with misfortune, it was very unlikely that I could get him to forge another contract with me. I decided the best approach would be to force his dormant memories out of him; memories that rested deep within his soul. 

There, on the desk, was my way in; a notebook, upon which was written; _“Ciel Winterford, Riverview Academy.”_ This was sure to be difficult, but the prize would be well worth the effort. Ciel Winterford would be mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Please comment if you have time to spare.
> 
> Title: In the language of flowers, the peach blossom can mean long life. It is meant to represent Ciel's rebirth.


	3. Datura

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter is in Ciel's POV. Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: minor swearing

My Monday morning began the same way most of my mornings did in this dreadful place; with a great amount of screaming and physical distress. Maddy, my foster sister, woke up early and decided she wanted to jump on us. She began her attack by pouncing on Rajesh; who shared a bed with our eldest “brother,” Callum. 

“Wake up! Wake up! Rise and shine!!” she screamed.

“Owwwww! Maddy, stop it!!” Rajesh howled, trying to push Maddy off of him. Callum poked his head out from the covers, sleepily. Once Maddy noticed he was awake, she proceeded to pounce on him. 

“C'mon, Maddy, cut it out, we're all awake now,” Callum groaned, picking her up and setting her on the floor beside his bed. She apparently wasn't satisfied.

“Ciel!! Julian!! Wake up!” she insisted, jumping on me. She was surprisingly heavy for a six year old girl. I growled, hoping she would take the hint. But she persisted. The screaming and bouncing obviously disturbed my older “brother,” Julian, who I was forced to share my bed with. 

“Bugger off!” Julian shouted, pushing Maddy off of the bed. She landed on the hardwood floor with a loud thunk.

“Hey! Don't push her! She's just a little girl, you berk!” Callum yelled, rolling out of bed to help Maddy up.

“She was jumping on the damn bed, what was I supposed to do, ask politely?” Julian groaned, pulling the covers over his head. 

“But it's time to wake up. We have to get ready for school,” Maddy whimpered. I grew tired of listening to their banter, so I got up and made my way to the loo, before any of those tossers could get to it. In this house, it was always first come, first serve. 

After I finished my business, I returned to the battlefield that was our bedroom to retrieve my school uniform. I managed to avoid being thrown into the middle of their scuffle and made it safely to the bathroom once again, to change. 

I was more than just a bit peckish, at that point. I hadn't eaten since supper the night before. Whatever Miss. Beasley was preparing for breakfast smelled awfully delicious. When I met her in the kitchen, she was piling eggs, sausages, and baked beans onto seven plates. 

“Good, you're awake. Be a dear, Ciel, and tell the others breakfast is ready,” she requested, strands of black and silver hair falling, every which way, about her face. She was a kind woman with a big heart, but she had certainly seen better days. Ever since her husband and son died, she dedicated herself to helping needy children. It was fairly obvious, however, that she didn't have the patience to handle so many at once. 

I did as I was told, although getting their attention proved to be a bit more difficult than I had hoped. Callum and Julian had taken to brawling on my bed. Maddy was making a fuss and demanding they stop. Violet and Rajesh were both taking refuge in the opposite corner of the room. The moment I screamed; “Breakfast!” the fighting stopped and I was trampled by a stampede of hungry children. 

Breakfast passed with few problems, which was a nice change. Miss. Beasley handed us all our lunches and went off to work. I waited for my “siblings,” since I wasn't allowed to walk to school by myself. Violet spent about twenty minutes styling her golden hair into a high ponytail. Julian, too, spent quite a long time making himself look presentable. Once they were finally done, we were off.

We had to walk the younger set to their bus before we could head off to our school. As per usual, Maddy wasted a few minutes clinging to Callum's leg, begging for him to take her with him. He eventually pried her off and sent her on her way. 

We arrived late to our school, a bit wet from the mild drizzle that began as we were walking. The building was dead quiet, it was a bit unsettling, actually. Callum and Julian went their separate ways, while I made my way down the hall, to my first lesson. 

As I walked in, the room went silent. In place of our usual teacher, was a man, with jet black hair and haunting red eyes. Wonderful. . . the one time I was late to school and we had a substitute teacher. 

“Ah, we have a straggler. It seems you've just missed roll call, what is your name then?” the teacher asked, pleasantly. 

“Ciel Winterford, sir,” I replied, taking my seat. He turned his attention to the chart on his desk and put some sort of mark next to my name. 

“Right. Well, Mr. Winterford, I was just introducing myself to your peers. As I said, my name is Mr. Michaelis,” he explained, pointing to the blackboard, where he had written his name. He kept his creepy, scarlet eyes fixed on me. It put me in a state of unease that I don't recall ever having been in before. “Your teacher, Mr. Lambert, has not been heard from today. Until he returns, I shall be filling in for him. Now, let us pick up where you lot left off, hmm? Open your textbooks to page 215,” he concluded, a very unnerving smile frozen on his face. We all did as he asked; the noisy, collective sound of rummaging and flipping followed his request. 

“Mr. Winterford, why don't you start us off? Please read the first page aloud,” the teacher commanded. I was hardly in the mood to comply, but I did anyway. Once I finished, he moved his attention to another student. I had very little interest in the subject of history, so I decided to tune the rest of the lesson out. My mind drifted off to a serene field in the English countryside. How desperately I craved for some peace and quiet. . . 

“Mr. Winterford, would you care to expound on what Miss. Fairchild just read?” Mr. Michaelis asked several minutes later, drawing me out of my daydream. Needless to say, I hadn't the slightest idea what had just been read. I had to look down at my textbook and hope that I was skimming through the right paragraph. 

“Uhm. . . Well. . .” I stuttered, gracelessly. The other students began to chuckle.

“Perhaps you could tell me what earned Queen Victoria the nickname “widow of Windsor”?” he hummed.

“The death of her husband. . .” It was obvious, really. Still, he found a way to make me look foolish.

“Continue,” he urged, twirling his index finger about in the air. I hadn't the slightest idea what it was he wanted me to say. Additionally, I was really annoyed that he kept chastising me. What did I do?

“I don't know, sir. Maybe you should ask someone who actually knows the answer,” I grumbled. He frowned, closed his book, and walked over to my desk. It was only then that I noticed how incredibly tall he was. His black suit was like a giant shadow hovering over me. 

“It is precisely for the fact that you don't know the answer that I am singling you out. Don't think that just because I am a substitute teacher that I will tolerate cheeky behaviour. Continue reading, starting from the top of page 217.” I sighed deeply and did as I was told. I couldn't possibly have cared less about the bloody Queen. I didn't care about the living one, why the hell should I care about any of the dead ones? The page ended, so I stopped reading. 

“Please continue, Mr. Winterford,” the teacher said. 

“Come on, why don't you pick on someone else for a while?” I groaned. I was hardly in the mood to deal with this wanker and his ridiculous attitude. All I really wanted was to be left alone. Mr. Michaelis, who had wandered away from me while I was reading, now made his way back to my desk. 

“Picking on you, am I? I suppose by punishing a student who arrives late to his lessons and doesn't pay attention once he gets there, I am being quite the bully,” he chided. The other students found it to be far more amusing than I did. 

“Well you've made your point. I'm bloody well paying attention now,” I pouted. Admittedly, I was overreacting a bit. When it came to insults, being stripped of my dignity was the most offensive. I've always had a tendency to lash out when I feel I'm being disrespected. 

“I don't appreciate your attitude, Mr. Winterford. I was hoping to avoid this my first day, but I'm afraid I have no choice but to give you a detention. I will phone your guardian to let them know you will be staying after school,” he announced, walking over to his desk and scribbling on a small slip of yellow paper. 

“A detention! For what?!” I demanded. 

“For being impertinent,” he explained, handing me the slip of paper. The other students continued giggling at my misfortune. Nothing further was mentioned on the subject. Mr. Michaelis carried on with the lesson. I was relieved that he had at least given up on humiliating me. Before long, the lesson was over and I was able to leave that wretched classroom. 

I spent the remainder of my day lamenting my future appointment with that obnoxious git of a teacher. But I knew I had to be on my best behaviour, lest that bastard issue me another detention. I was going to be in enough trouble for this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please comment if you have time. Thanks for reading! Also, in regards to Ciel's behaviour; I know he's a little OOC. Take into account that he has been reborn and was not raised in the same environment he was raised in previously. So he is bound to be a bit different. And, yes, his “siblings” are all OCs. No, they do not play a large part in the story. But, in case you guys are confused, Miss. Beasley currently cares for 6 children; Callum (17), Julian (15), Ciel (13), Violet (8), Madison (6), and Rajesh (5). 
> 
> Title: In the language of flowers the datura (thorn apple or Jimson weed) means disguise. Obviously, it is meant to represent Sebastian's new disguise.


	4. Cherry Blossom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter is also in Ciel's POV. Also, _prolonged italicized text usually indicates a deviation from the normal context of the story. (ie thoughts, dreams, flashbacks, etc.) Please bear that in mind for this chapter and throughout the rest of the story._ Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: moar minor swearing

The school day ended, after what seemed to be an eternity. I ran out to the front of the school, as fast as I could (with my asthma permitting), to inform my siblings that I wouldn't be walking home with them today. Callum ruffled my hair and shook his head in mild disappointment, while Julian just laughed uproariously.

“I thought for sure I'd be the first one to get a detention. Who would've guessed it'd be little mild mannered Ciel,” he howled. 

“Can it, Julian. C'mon, we've gotta pick up the girls and Rajesh,” Callum scoffed, grabbing Julian by the arm and pulling him down the walk. I let loose a deep sigh and turned to face my punishment. It was the first detention I had ever gotten. I blamed my annoying siblings for it; after all, had I not had to wait for them to get ready, I wouldn't have been late in the first place. Therefore, this vile substitute teacher wouldn't have had cause to punish me. 

I walked into his classroom. He was situated, quite eerily, behind his desk; just staring at the doorway. His eyes seemed to glow for just a moment, but I'm sure I was only imagining it. 

“Ah, Mr. Winterford, how good of you to join me. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten,” he hummed pleasantly. 

“I'm sorry, sir. I had to tell my siblings to walk home without me.” I took a seat, at the same desk I usually sat at. Mr. Michaelis stood up and walked over to me; placing a notepad, an old dip pen, and an inkwell in front of me. I stared at the items questioningly. He couldn't be serious?

“I would like you to write this verse, Mr. Winterford,” the man said, directing my attention to the blackboard with his pointer; upon which was written the verse he wanted me to write: _All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream._

“How many times?” I asked; knowing that I had read that line somewhere before. I just wasn't sure where. The dark haired man smirked mischievously.

“Until the hour is up,” he chirped. 

“With all due respect, sir, what lesson am I to learn from writing this verse? It has nothing to do with my insolence.” His smile only grew.

“You are quite right, Mr. Winterford. However, this verse is one that I hold dear to me. Would you like to know why?” The playful gleam in his mahogany eyes was beginning to unnerve me just a bit. 

“I suppose.” I lied. I honestly had no interest in hearing what significance that verse held to the man, but I felt as though I was in no position to tell him no. 

“This verse is special in the sense that it was written by a drunken madman,” Mr. Michaelis replied, still grinning wildly.

“I don't follow, sir,” I said, looking absolutely confused. 

“No truer words have been spoken than those by a drunken madman. You see, being mad is a gift. A gift which allows those who possess it to see the world for what it truly is. When madness is amplified by the effects of alcohol, the possibilities are endless.” I had to suppose that Mr. Michaelis knew quite a bit about madness, he seemed two cards shy of a whole deck himself. 

I picked up the pen, dipped it in the ink, and began writing. Mr. Michaelis went back behind his desk, but kept his eyes fixed on me. I had to wonder what his fascination with me was about. Or, perhaps he wasn't fascinated by me at all. . . perhaps that was simply his method of teaching; strict and odd. 

“Who was it who wrote this verse, Mr. Michaelis?” I asked, after I decided to give up trying to figure it out for myself. 

“It was written by the great Edgar Allan Poe.” I couldn't recall having read any Poe in my lifetime, but I knew for certain I had heard that verse before. What the bloody hell did it mean. . . a dream within a dream? A load of rubbish if you ask me. 

“With the right compilation of words, one can obtain the totum regere potentia liber,” Mr. Michaelis added, looking a bit apprehensive. 

“I suppose,” I replied, mostly to get him to stop talking. I kept writing, but halfway through the verse, I realized my teacher had spoken in a different language. What was even stranger than that. . . was that I understood him. I hadn't the slightest idea what language he used and I was certain that I didn't know any foreign languages. Despite that, I somehow knew that he had just told me; “with the right compilation of words, one can obtain the power to rule the whole book.” 

He was still staring me down, like a hawk, when I turned my dumbfounded gaze back to him. He seemed to be perfectly amused by my complete shock. It was so incredibly strange, that I figured it to be a coincidence and tried my damnedest to move past it. To my surprise, he didn't press the subject any further. 

Soon, only fifteen minutes remained of my hour long detention. My teacher had taken to scribbling notes down on a pad on his desk. I busied myself with writing that ridiculous verse. The sound of silence was a comfort to me. It was actually quite nice to get a moment to myself for once, even if it was meant to be a punishment. I heard Mr. Michaelis sigh. When I glanced up at him, I saw him setting his pen down and lacing his hands together. 

“Have siblings then, do you?” he asked cheerfully. I was taken a bit off guard by the question, and quite honestly, I was rather annoyed that he ruined my peace. 

“They aren't really my siblings. They're foster children, of no relation to me,” I replied. I often felt as though I had to disclaim those sods. 

“So, are you an only child then?” he ventured. 

“I used to be, yes.” 

“I see,” he mumbled. With that, our odd conversation came to an end. I went back to writing my verses, while he returned to his notes. It was a misplaced feeling, but I found that I was beginning to rather like this teacher. He was absolutely mad, in the most delightful of ways. 

The remainder of my detention passed in silence, though I kept glancing up at Mr. Michaelis every so often, wondering if he had something more to say. 

He dismissed me with a smile. It was rare to ever see that man frowning. I walked home, listening contentedly to the birds singing and the wind blowing. My peace was temporarily broken by the startling sound of a raven cawing loudly as it flew overhead. It was obnoxious, but beautiful. 

The moment I got home, I was scolded by a mildly angry Miss. Beasley. Maddy took great pleasure in teasing me for getting into trouble. I found it a great relief when Beasley sent me to my room. When I got there, I was even more pleased to find that it was empty; I could finally rest. And rest I did. The instant my head hit the pillow, I found solace in sleep. 

_I stirred, uncomfortably, as beams of light tried to penetrate my eyelids. It was still daytime, that I was sure of. I didn't hear any screaming and had to wonder if my objectionable siblings were still alive. I eased my eyelids open, noting immediately that my environment was quite different._

_I found myself lying in the centre of a massive, plush bed, surrounded by silk and velvet. There was a figure standing in front of the window; drawing back the curtains. The invading sunlight was so bright that all I could make out was a vague silhouette. The room we were in was about as big as Miss. Beasley's entire flat._

_The figure took hold of something (presumably made of glass) off to the side of the bed, I could hear whatever it was clattering against itself. Then, suddenly, I was face to face with the silhouette. His features were now as clear as day; it was my history teacher, wordlessly offering me a cup of tea. His smile was haunting. He seemed so. . . familiar._

I woke with a start when Violet shook me to tell me supper was ready. I glanced at the clock and saw that two and a half hours had passed since I fell asleep. I rolled over, onto my side, and stared at the bedroom door. As I did, my strange dream came back to me. I couldn't stop myself from laughing heartily at the thought. Apparently, I was a bit mad myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please comment if you have the time, I would really appreciate it. Additionally, the Latin phrase Sebastian used contained the words “potentia” (power) and “regere” (rule), which are the two Latin words featured on the Phantomhive family crest. Strategic 'n' stuff. xD
> 
> Title: In the language of the flowers, cherry blossoms can mean a good education. They can also mean transience of life. Both of which work well for Ciel in this chapter. XD


	5. Honeysuckle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter is in Sebastian's point of view. Enjoy!

My students were nose deep in their textbooks, sleepily glancing back and forth, from one side of the page to another. It was my intention to jog Ciel's memories in any way imaginable, thus I had the students skip ahead a couple chapters to the great London fire of 1888. Surely the faded photographs featured in that chapter would bring some of those pesky memories to light. 

Ciel seemed to be much more immersed in the material than most of the other students, it was refreshing to see that he hadn't changed too much. Then again, his soul was effectively the same, so it stood to reason that he hadn't changed at all; not in the ways that mattered anyway. 

I simply couldn't put my finger on it. . . Just how did his soul find itself back on Earth? There were so many questions; most of which seemed to have nearly impossible answers. I kept wondering if perhaps Baal failed to seize Ciel's soul before departing. Or, could it be that he had seized it but somehow it escaped from him? Even if either one of those things were true; that still didn't explain why the body he now possessed was identical to his previous form. 

As I sat behind my desk, lost in my musings, the lunch bell rang noisily. The students hurried to put their belongings back in their book bags, before rushing out the door. One student lingered, however. I tried to stop my lips from smirking but found that I could not, as young master Winterford shuffled over to my desk. 

“Excuse me sir, I realize this is a strange thing to ask, but I'm not fond of loud noises and I really dislike the dining hall. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind if I ate my lunch in here? I promise to be quiet,” he asked, almost timidly. I dare say I hated seeing my young master struggling with his confidence. 

“That would be just fine, Mr. Winterford,” I replied with a smile. 

“Thank you, Mr. Michaelis,” he said, taking a seat near the front of the classroom. I delighted in the revelation that he chose to sit closer to my desk than he did during his detention yesterday. I took it as a sign that he was beginning to trust me, not an easy feat when you are dealing with Ciel. Given his promise of silence, I knew that it rested upon me to strike up a conversation with him. However, I would have to tread lightly; one misstep and the frozen lake that was the boy's trust would surely crumble. There was one thing I could offer that I knew Ciel (past or present) would never turn down.

“Ah, I just remembered. . .” I proclaimed, reaching into my desk and pulling out a couple pieces of candy; wrapped in pink and decorated with a black cat. I unwrapped one and popped it into my mouth. “I have a few pieces left, would you like to try one?” I held out the other piece, hoping he wouldn't be too guarded and take it. Much like I expected; he reached out and took it, albeit with the smallest hint of scepticism. 

He stared at it for a while, obviously unsure if he should actually eat it. Eventually he decided to throw caution to the wind, as he unwrapped the succulent confection and placed it on his tongue. The look on his face seemed to suggest that he was incredibly partial to the flavour. 

“It's delicious. What is it?” the boy asked, a delightfully curious gleam about his cerulean eyes. 

“It was produced by a company that has been out of business for a while; called Funtom. Such a terrible shame really, their candy was absolutely delectable.” As he let the candy dance upon his tongue, his eyes closed. I sat in anticipation, hoping that something was coming back to him. Watching him, so at ease, made me desperately yearn for even just a shred of my young master to return to me. 

He eventually opened his eyes. When he did, he seemed no different than before he had closed them. It seemed as though he hadn't had any visions of the past. I stifled a distressed sigh and decided upon a different approach.

“If you don't mind me asking, Mr. Winterford, why did you chose to eat lunch in my classroom? Why not one of your other teachers?” 

“I'm not very fond of my other teachers, I doubt they would have agreed to let me eat lunch in their classrooms,” he confessed, clearly a bit embarrassed. 

“I suppose you must be fond of me then?” I asked, allowing my amusement to escape in the form of pleasant giggles. 

“I thought you wouldn't mind the intrusion.” 

“You thought rightly, Mr. Winterford. Despite our conflict in class yesterday, I am rather fond of you as well; provided, of course, that you contain your outbursts,” I affirmed. I was surprised when he chuckled. That was certainly something that Ciel Phantomhive would have never done, unless he was putting on airs. 

“The subject of today's lesson was actually a bit interesting, I remember reading about the great London fire of 1888 somewhere before,” he mused. “What a dreadful era it must have been.” 

“You shouldn't be so quick to judge. For the people of the time, the Victorian era was by far in the way the most prosperous. I'm sure they said the exact same thing of the people who lived a century before them,” I snickered, knowing that to be the truth; not just of the Victorian citizens either, it was true of nearly every generation from every era throughout history. 

“Perhaps. Do you think the impoverished Victorians shared your views about London's prosperity at the time?” Ciel asked, one eyebrow raised in mild amusement. 

“I suppose not,” I replied, laughing heartily at his adorable insight. Several minutes of silence passed between us, while he finished up his lunch and I pretended to mark papers. I glanced up to catch his brilliant blue eyes looking, almost hesitantly, at me. “Do you have something on your mind, Mr. Winterford?” 

“Not exactly. I just keep thinking about a ridiculous dream I had yesterday,” he dismissed, clearly rather eager to leave it at that. 

“Oh? Fascinating!” I exclaimed, simply desperate to see into my young master's head again. “I would love to hear about it, I find the subconscious mind absolutely bewitching.” He looked down at the desk, contemplation flickering in his eyes. 

“It's silly,” he muttered, shaking his head. 

“Most dreams are. Come now, I promise I won't tell anyone,” I urged. He sighed in defeat. 

“I'm not sure where I was, exactly. I just woke up in some sort of manor house bedroom,” he paused, seemingly a bit embarrassed to go on. I kept my expression calm and friendly, even though I was eager to hear the rest from his own lips. I knew that he was describing the Phantomhive manor. His soul was desperately trying to remind him of who he once was. 

“What happened then?” I asked, casually. 

“You were there. . . dressed in some sort of tailcoat. You were offering me tea. That's all I can remember, really,” he confessed. I chuckled.

“Is that right? You certainly do have interesting dreams, Mr. Winterford.” He smirked a little at my statement. The bell rang, signifying lunch period was over. Ciel gathered his things and walked to the door. 

“Have a nice day, Mr. Michaelis,” he said on his way out the door, offering me a swift wave of his hand. 

“You as well, Mr. Winterford,” I bade as he disappeared from my sight. It wouldn't be long now; I would resurrect Ciel's memories or I would die trying. Remnants of his past life were slowly beginning to shine through the cracks. I could hardly wait. 

The school day carried on as usual. At the end of the day, I assumed my preferred form; that of a raven, and flew to Ciel's place of residence. I perched on his bedroom windowsill and watched as he took a seat on his bed. He was not alone in the room, but the girl sitting across from him didn't seem to be paying much mind to her foster brother. The boy made himself comfortable and proceeded to stare blankly at the bedsheets. I had to wonder what was stirring in that enigmatic head of his. .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For those history nuts out there thinking there was no “great London fire of 1888”; I know. In our reality, London was nice and fire free in 1888. In the Kuroshitsuji universe however, not so much. At least not the anime, which is the universe in which this story takes place. Thanks for reading! Please comment if you have the time. ^w^
> 
> Title: In the language of flowers; honeysuckles signify devotion and bonds of love. Obviously they are meant to represent Sebastian's endless devotion to Ciel's soul.


	6. Gladiolus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter is in Ciel's POV. 
> 
> Warnings: disturbing imagery

_I was situated in the centre of a giant room, with a charcoal labrador hopping excitedly around me. To my right, in a chair, with a newspaper casually draped over his lap, was a dark haired man I didn't recognize. To my left, sitting in a chair, with crocheting needles in her hands, was a light haired woman. Her face seemed very familiar, though I knew I had never seen her before._

_They were both laughing cheerfully. Even I felt an unexplainable mirth bubbling up inside me. For some reason. . . I was happy with these people._

_Without warning, those two beautiful people burst into flames. I sat there, terror taking over me, as I watched them burn. They didn't scream, they didn't struggle; they simply sat there and smouldered. With them, my happiness burnt out as well. I felt tears welling up behind my eyes but I wasn't sure why. The fire spread from their charred corpses to the rest of the room._

_A pitch black shadow swept past me, smothering the fire and leaving the room a scorched wreck. I sat, hopeless, in the same spot I began. My body had begun shaking so badly, I couldn't move. It was an unbridled fear that I had never known before and I still had no idea why I was so frightened in the first place. Even more than afraid; I felt. . . lonely._

_There, on a perch across from me, sat a raven; as black as the shadow that had extinguished the fire. I knew that most considered them to be a bad omen, but this raven's presence was not unnerving to me; rather, it was comforting. It seemed a bit daft, but when I looked into the raven's beady black eyes, I felt the loneliness melt away._

_Just then, the raven leapt off of his perch and morphed into a man. . . It took a moment for my eyes to see him clearly through the ash and smoke. Once I could make out his features, I was confronted with my history teacher. He stood there, his right hand raised to his chest, in a black tailcoat. His scarlet eyes seemed to glow like a beacon through the murky, smoke filled air. And the smile he wore, though bone chilling in its own respect, was so incredibly familiar. . ._

“Julian! Stop it!” I heard Violet screech, making me jolt awake. I sprung out of bed, desperate to get to the lavatory before any of them had the chance. I ran as fast as I could to the loo and locked the door behind me. I wiped the cold sweat from my brow and splashed my face with cool water. That was two nights in a row that I had been plagued with odd dreams about my history teacher. . . in a tailcoat. What the bloody hell did it mean? Mr. Michaelis would certainly be interested to hear about it. Whether or not I would tell him was still up for debate.

The lot of us ate our breakfast, with the same chaotic banter that accompanied every meal, and then we were off to school. The lectures were all quite dull and incessant, as usual. The only lecture I had any interest in at all was that given during my history class; and that was simply because I rather liked my teacher. Truth be, my unusual dreams about the man had left me with a strange feeling of unease, but I wasn't about to let them get the better of me. After all, it was a rare occasion that I would ever actually like one of my teachers. 

Our lunch period finally came and, once again, I sought refuge in Mr. Michaelis' classroom. I was relieved to learn that he was happy to accommodate me. I busied myself with my lunch and some homework assigned by my biology teacher. Mr. Michaelis remained behind his desk, scribbling marks on his student's papers. 

“How was your day yesterday, Mr. Winterford,” he asked after a while. I wasn't entirely sure why I was so delighted to hear him acknowledge me. 

“Not so bad. A little irritating, but that's everyday for me,” I replied, feeling as though I had said too much. He looked at me with mild curiosity.

“Oh? Why is that?” 

“My siblings. They're dreadfully loud and obnoxious,” I said. He chuckled playfully.

“I see. I'm terribly sorry to hear that.” He made a few marks on the paper in front of him, remaining quiet all the while. I thought for a moment that he had abandoned our conversation, until he put his pen down and looked back in my direction, with a pleasant grin on his face. “Did you have any interesting dreams last night?” 

It was an entirely inappropriate question for a teacher to ask his student, but considering the topic of discussion during yesterdays lunch, it wasn't unreasonable. It still took me off guard and I hadn't the slightest idea if I even wanted to tell him about the nightmare I'd had. Ultimately, I decided it would be better to keep things vague. 

“I don't know if I'd call it interesting, just subconscious nonsense,” I answered apprehensively, taking a nibble from my sandwich. His eyes seemed to glow, much like they did in my dream. But surely I was just imagining that. . .

“I'd like to hear about it all the same, if you wouldn't mind, of course,” he chirped merrily. I sighed, a burning feeling in my gut told me that he wasn't going to let this go, if that look of joyous curiosity painted on his face was anything to go by.

“As I said, it was just a bunch of nonsense. It was about people I've never even seen before. . A man and a woman. They caught fire. Then. . you appeared, dressed in a tailcoat again. That's when I woke up,” I explained. It was embarrassing to let anyone that far into my subconscious. 

“Hmm, what do you suppose your mind is trying to tell you?” he asked, bringing his index finger up to rest on his bottom lip. 

“I don't exactly think it's trying to tell me anything. I don't really believe that dreams are poignant in any way, I just think they're a collection of random rubbish that our brain doesn't know what to do with,” I replied. Mr. Michaelis seemed to be an avid believer in the importance of dreams and I didn't want to step on his beliefs, only for the fact that he likely wouldn't let me eat lunch in his classroom anymore. But he asked. . . so I answered. 

“You think so, eh? Well, to each his own,” he hummed, still mildly cheerful. The bell rang loudly, making me jolt. It didn't at all feel like a half hour had passed since lunch began. . . I gathered my book bag and started making my way toward the door. 

“Mr. Winterford, wait just a moment. . .” Mr. Michaelis urged, as he began rummaging through his desk drawers. I stopped just short of the door and waited. After a few seconds, he found what he was looking for. He retrieved a little box, covered in crushed velvet, its colour a deep midnight blue. I took a few steps closer to his desk so that I could get a better look. 

“I realize this might seem incredibly generous of me, but I've no use for this particular item. I rather feel as though it would suit you very nicely, it matches your eyes. I'd be most grateful if you would take it off of my hands for me. .” he said, sliding the lid open and revealing its contents; an incredible silver ring, with ornate carvings adorning the sides. In the centre was a large, shimmering blue stone. I couldn't believe it. . . what kind of person would want to just give something like this away?

“I. . .is that real?” I asked, completely dumbstruck. I knew damn well it was, I could tell just by looking at it. 

“It is,” he said with a grin. 

“Why do you want to give it to me?” I had to resist the urge to take off running; this was way more than I signed up for. This man was absolutely loony.

“I have no need for it. However, it once meant a lot to someone important to me. I would rather give it away to someone I trust to take care of it than sell it to someone who may not. I trust that you would take good care of it, Mr. Winterford,” he replied, removing the ring from the box and leaning toward me. He gingerly slipped the ring onto my left thumb (as it was the only one of my fingers which would accommodate the size of it). I stared at it, in awe. Everything I'd ever been taught told me that I should give it back and promptly leave. . . perhaps even tell someone about this. But, for reasons which are still unclear to me, I didn't. I looked up at him, his eyes once again seeming to glow. 

“If you're sure you want me to have this, I'll take it,” I said, running my fingers along the edge of the beautiful treasure he'd given me. He smiled.

“I'm quite sure. Please do take care of it.” He seemed genuinely happy that I'd accepted his gift. I nodded. Just then, ever so gradually, the sound of screams assaulted my ears. They weren't exceptionally loud, but they needn't have been. I looked at my teacher to see him smiling still. He didn't appear to notice the screams at all. I resisted the impulse to cover my ears, lest I appear barking mad. 

It was the ring. . . it had to have been. I'd never once heard phantom screams before in my life. I didn't really believe in ghosts, and I wasn't about to admit that the ring may be haunted. Even though there was clearly something wrong with it, I couldn't bring myself to take it off. 

“Right then, I hope it serves you well, Mr. Winterford. You should be off now, you'll be late for your next lecture,” he said. 

“Thank you, Mr. Michaelis. I promise to take good care of it. See you tomorrow,” I bade, as I turned on my heel and ran out the door. It would be really hard to explain this gift to my “family,” so I pulled my sleeves down to cover my hands. It made me look even smaller than I already was, but it was entirely necessary. Focusing on my lessons proved to be very difficult with the incessant screaming that came along with that damned ring. I simply couldn't remove it though. I felt as if doing so would be a betrayal, not to Mr. Michaelis, but to something altogether unknown to me. . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Way to be a total creeper, Sebastian. All I could think about while writing the second half of this chapter was “The one ring to rule them all.” xD Anyway, that's it for this chapter. Comment please, if you have the time. 
> 
> Title: In the language of the flowers, Gladioli symbolize generosity and sincerity. For this chapter, they represent Sebastian's (not so) generous gift.


	7. Magnolia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter is in Ciel's POV again.

I arrived home later that afternoon, quite a distance away from my obnoxious siblings. My asthma always limited my ability to perform even the most mundane physical feat, which unfortunately includes walking quickly. I kept my new treasure hidden snugly behind my sleeve. I couldn't let it be discovered. Not only would Mr. Michaelis likely get into trouble, but (perhaps more importantly) the ring would undoubtedly be taken from me. Strange as it was, I didn't want to part with it.

My two eldest brothers were bickering about some ridiculous football player when we finally made it back inside Beasley's flat. The argument had escalated into mild shoving. Callum usually had a clear head and refrained from petty fighting like this, but Julian had a habit of antagonizing people to their breaking point. He usually left me alone though, and for that I was immeasurably grateful. Miss. Beasley was working late, so the pack apparently felt the need to be gratuitously rowdy. Violet and Maddy got to work fighting over some useless doll. Callum and Julian continued their spar once they realized Beasley wasn't home to stop them. Rajesh sheepishly wandered into the kitchen to avoid the scuffle. 

As I usually did, I went back to our bedroom; the only place I could go to escape those twits at the moment. I lifted my sleeve so that I could get a better look at the beautiful ring my teacher had gifted me. It was even more breathtaking than I had originally thought. Now I could make out the intricate details and see my own, stupefied reflection in the shimmering blue stone. I had to wonder what kind of stone it as. At first I thought it to be a sapphire, but upon closer inspection it seemed entirely too stunning. 

The screams had long since stopped, much to my relief. Still, my head was no more clear now than it had been since the moment my teacher slipped the ring on my finger. I felt significantly more stressed; things that usually wouldn't bother me were starting to. It was troubling but I simply didn't care enough to remove the apparent source of my discomfort. 

I plopped down, harshly, onto my bed; eager to just spend the rest of the day relaxing. I could still hear those useless sods bickering outside the door, though their voices seemed muted. The entire world felt still and calm. There was a foreboding presence about the air, almost as though the devil himself was lurking the halls. 

On the ceiling, crawling ominously into a corner, was a thick, black spider. I sat there watching it for what seemed like only minutes (and what was actually an hour). It busied itself with spinning a web. Carefully, meticulously. . . it would swing from one end of the wall to the other. Suddenly, it stopped dead in it's tracks. There it sat, absolutely still, for the longest time. I had this feeling that it saw me. . . that it was staring at me. . .  
Before my waking eyes, I saw a flash of gold. Sharp, golden eyes, behind a pair of spectacles. They were hungry. I gasped after the vision faded, not knowing what it meant. Perhaps, just as with my dreams, it meant nothing. Just a collection of nonsense. 

The spider continued its task, leaving me with chills. I wanted to smash it but I couldn't find the strength to move. So, with nothing else to do, I closed my tired eyes. I hadn't even drifted to sleep before my mind conjured up more ridiculous rubbish. First, a boy, with fair hair and blue eyes. He smiled before flashing his tongue, upon which was a brown and gold pentagram. As quickly as the vision came, it was gone; only to be replaced by the image of the man with the golden eyes fighting with my history teacher. . . both of them wearing tailcoats. 

I had the urge to open my eyes, for fear of what I might see next if I kept them closed; but I didn't. Just like the previous visions, that one vanished, making room for the next one. Which happened to be a young girl, with massive blonde banana curls and sorrowful green eyes. She was dressed in black and weeping loudly. She was followed by a collection of pastries and confections, all of which looked as though they had been prepared for royalty and none of which I had ever seen before. I could even smell them, as if they were right under my nose.

It was all so overwhelming that I had to open my eyes. When I did, the visions stopped. They had all been so clear, specific, and vivid, that I had a difficult time writing them off as mere trash. Perhaps Mr. Michaelis was right, maybe my mind is trying to tell me something. What it might've been, I hadn't the slightest. I sighed, looking back at the spider, who was still hard at work. It wasn't long though, before my eyelids grew heavy once again, and I was claimed by sleep.

_My slumber was interrupted, for the second time, by my teacher. He drew back the curtains to the massive bedroom that I had only seen once before, yet it seemed so very familiar to me. I could place where all of my personal belongings were and I instinctively knew how to manoeuvre the halls of this manor. It was as though I had been living in this lavish estate my entire life._

_I rose, sleepily, and accepted a cup of tea; delivered to me by Mr. Michaelis. It was the best cup of tea I had ever tasted, and yet it felt dull; as if it was a flavour I was much too acquainted with. Mr. Michaelis, in his usual form, was smiling at me. I began to speak, however, the words that escaped my lips weren't my own._

_“What's on the agenda for today, Sebastian?” I asked, my voice low and refined, despite the fact that I had just woken up. Only just then had I realized that I had never heard my history teacher's given name before. I wasn't even sure that it was “Sebastian,” though I had to admit, the name did suit him._

_“You have French with Monsieur Bennett at ten. Followed by lunch at noon. At two, you have fencing lessons, followed by afternoon tea. You then have an appointment with a reporter at 'The Times' at four. Then high tea at five and supper at six,” my teacher recited merrily, moving to the other side of the room, where he had laid out a beautiful ensemble for me, consisting of blue and black silk and adorned with black lace._

_“That's fine,” I mumbled, sipping my tea gingerly._

_“Would you like to take breakfast in the dining hall, or would you prefer to take it in the atrium?” he asked, still with a smile._

_“Are the roses still in bloom?” I sighed._

_“They are, indeed.” I handed him my saucer and cup and shuffled out of my giant bed. The carpeted floor was much warmer on my feet than the cold hardwood floors in Beasley's flat. I stretched, my nightshirt riding up just a bit as I did._

_Mr. Michaelis brought my clothes over to me and began unbuttoning my shirt. It made my heart race, having someone that close to me, removing my clothes. Yet, as with most of the odd occurrences today, it also seemed casual and familiar. He finished dressing me, high heeled shoes and all, and I led the way to the atrium. It was filled with foliage, particularly these gorgeous white roses, which filled the room with a heavenly scent._

_Mr. Michaelis placed a dish before me, full of delectable looking cuisine. He proceeded to map out the course list, but I had absolutely no idea what any of it was. It sounded good though. I got to work filling my vacant stomach with Mr. Michaelis' delicious meal. He simply stood by my side, making me feel a bit uncomfortable._

_There was commotion in the hall, just outside the atrium. Screaming, followed by the sound of breaking glass. Mr. Michaelis sighed._

_“Shall I see to that, my lord?” he inquired, obviously a little annoyed._

_“Yes,” I replied, sounding bored. My teacher (or perhaps butler) casually walked out into the hall. I could hear him from where I sat._

_“Mei-Rin, what in the world did you trip over this time?!” he yelled. Without having seen this woman he was screaming at, I could still see a clear image of her in my head. She was a red head, with large, round spectacles and an obnoxious cockney accent._

_“Sorry, mister Sebastian! It's just me own two feet! I'll clean it up right away!” she howled apologetically. I could hear her shuffle off as Mr. Michaelis returned to my side._

_“You trust that she'll be able to clean up her mess without making more of one?” I asked, slightly amused, as I sipped more of my tea._

_“Not in the slightest. But I have more pressing matters to see to; your French tutor is due to arrive any minute now,” he hummed with a grin. I felt an unimaginable dread creep into my gut. Apparently, French lessons were not very fun._

_“In that case, go see to it that Monsieur Bennett is courteously greeted with our signature Phantomhive hospitality,” I commanded, shooing the man away with my hand, as though he were a dog. He placed his right hand on his heart and bowed._

_“Yes, my lord,” he replied before turning on his heel and walking toward the door. The way he had said those words gave me chills unlike anything I've ever felt. It was almost as if I had come face to face with a ghost of the past._

I woke, once again, with a start. At first, the dreams of my teacher in a tailcoat were vague, they just seemed to be nonsense. But now, those obscure images had a story. . . a story that seemed far more intimate than they should have. My stomach lurched and my throat convulsed, as I fought back a very sudden urge to vomit. I had to jump out of bed, waking Julian in the process, and rush to the loo. I made it just in time to empty my stomach. I sat there, dumbfounded, on the cold tile floor for about ten minutes. I was unsure if all of this had any particular meaning. . But I was sure that I had to be going mad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I can't give you an eta on the release of the next chapter, but hopefully it will be soon. There are only a few chapters remaining until the end, so hang in there. XD Please comment! (the next chapter will likely come out sooner if I'm left with some feedback) Thanks again for reading! 
> 
> Title: In the language of flowers, Magnolias mean “nobility,” which is meant to represent Ciel's memories of being a noble.


	8. Rosemary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter is in Ciel's POV. Enjoy!~

I spent the remainder of the night wide awake, too afraid of my own eerie dreams to even consider going back to sleep. Though they were completely uninteresting, I resigned myself to staring at the walls, my mind abuzz with questions. I was never the type of person to put any stock into my dreams, but lately I'd been inclined to reconsider my beliefs. These dreams were so specific. . . so coherent. Almost like recalling a vivid memory. 

Halfway through the night, the screaming started again. Judging by the peaceful state of my psudo-siblings, I had to assume that it was all in my head, as it had been before. I looked down at the elegant ring adorning my thumb, wondering why I even had it still. Rather than remove it, as I should have done, I left it on; listening to the screams until they eventually wore themselves out. 

The next day, at school, was predictably nightmarish. All throughout first period, I attempted to avoid direct eye contact with Mr. Michaelis. His role in my dreams had me confused and a bit terrified. It almost seemed as though he was trying just as hard to ignore me; as he didn't call on me or even glance in my direction, despite the fact that I was clearly his favourite student. 

Second and third period came and went, and it was time for lunch. I had spent the entire morning trying to decide whether or not I would go to Mr. Michaelis' classroom during lunch period. I honestly didn't want to, however, I felt like I needed some clarity in regards to these visions in my head. Even if they were arbitrary and made no sense at all, I still needed answers. So I had made the decision to pay my history teacher a visit. He would surely be interested in the subject, at the very least. 

When I arrived to his classroom, he was in his usual place; behind his desk, marking papers. He seemed completely immersed in his task, though serene in his demeanour. Somehow, that helped to calm my nerves. Given his involvement with the papers, I assumed he hadn't noticed me; but I found myself to be mistaken when he announced my presence for me.

“Good morning, Mr. Winterford,” he hummed merrily, not glancing up from his work. It took me by surprise, making me jump slightly. I continued toward his desk, at a cautious pace. 

“Good morning, sir,” I replied, taking a seat in a chair beside his desk. He removed his spectacles and looked up at me, with that ever present smile. 

“How are you today?” he asked politely, opening his eyes and noticing that I was clearly not well, “You seem a bit out of sorts, is something troubling you?” His eyes were full of, what seemed to be, genuine concern. It took all my strength to gather the courage to actually confide in him- a man I barely knew- about a subject I didn't even truly believe in. 

“As a matter of fact, I am out of sorts. I hardly slept last night. More of those silly dreams,” I explained, knowing full well that his curiosity would be peaked at the mention of my dreams. I could see, by the way his eyebrows perked and his head cocked, that I wasn't wrong. 

“Oh, that's dreadful. I'm sorry to hear that. Are your dreams really that troubling?” he asked. This time, his concern seemed a bit false- I had to assume he was too interested in my dreams to really be concerned by my lack of sleep. 

“They have been as of late. Truthfully, you seem to be in quite a lot of them. I'm not really sure why,” I confessed. It was humiliating, telling this strange man that he was in so many of my dreams, but I had to assume that a man who is that interested in the goings on of the subconscious must know quite a bit about the subject. 

“I see. Well, that isn't entirely strange. After all, I am a new presence in your conscious life. Perhaps it's just a simple case of transference,” he chuckled. I was relived he didn't seem to be put off by it all, though it was still embarrassing. 

“Perhaps,” I sighed. Still not convinced that these visions and dreams were just my imagination running wild. I glanced down at his desk, noticing that the paper in front of him didn't belong to a student; rather, it seemed to be a notice to the headmaster. I couldn't really make out what was written in the letter, but I could read the signature at the bottom, which read: _Thank you kindly, Sebastian Michaelis._

My heart skipped a beat and suddenly I felt as though I couldn't breathe. I knew for certain that I had never heard or seen his given name in my waking hours. I had assumed that Sebastian was just a name my mind had made up for him, but to learn that it truly was his name gave me chills the likes of which I'd never felt. My discomfort certainly didn't go unnoticed by my teacher. 

“Are you alright, Mr. Winterford? You look a bit peaked,” he asked me, concern in his voice. I couldn't even look him in the eye; my fear and uncertainty were beginning to consume me. Just who was this man before me, why does he seem so familiar to me? It was driving me mad, making me feel as though I didn't even know who I was anymore. Rather than answer his question, I squinted my eyes and tried to make out what was written in the letter. Though it was lying slantwise from me, it didn't take too long for me to make out what it said.

_Dear Monsieur Bennett,_

_I'm writing to ensure my procurement of your white roses before the weekend. It is, as you know, the perfect time of the season for their blooms and I'm afraid the atrium just isn't the same without them. I would be much obliged if you could get back to me as soon as possible. Also, please send my best regards to Mei-Rin, I do hope she feels better soon._

_Thank you kindly,  
Sebastian Michaelis_

. . . It took me a moment to find my breath. Once I did, I jolted from the chair, giving my teacher a start. I backed away from him, slowly; terrified that he could see into my head. What I had thought was a notice to the headmaster, was actually a collage of details from my dream. I tried to rationalize it, thinking perhaps I had seen the letter before and my mind just invented a ridiculous story for it. But I knew damn well I had never seen it before. Mr. Michaelis stood, approaching me cautiously.

“Mr. Winterford, calm yourself. What ever is the matter with you?” he whispered. I backed into a wall and found myself trapped, as he continued toward me at an agonizingly slow pace. When he finally reached me, he placed his hands gently on my shoulders and locked eyes with me. Though I was utterly terrified, I was able to keep my breathing steady long enough to ask the one question that had been on my mind for days;

“Who are you?” 

He smiled, his lips parting to display a fanged grin, one only the devil could possess. His vermillion eyes closed, opening only moments later, to reveal two brightly glowing magenta orbs. Unlike all the other times I thought I had imagined them to be glowing, they remained luminous, burning a hole through me and piercing my very soul. He chuckled, an ominous, beastly sound that seemed full of both elation and desperation. 

“I cannot lie to you, young master. I am, after all. . . one hell of a butler,” he said, his voice smooth as velvet. 

I closed my eyes, despite my best efforts not to, and gasped in sheer horror as my mind was flooded with memories of a life long passed. The events from my dreams suddenly had a story- a very tragic story. My soul, and all the weariness it harboured, had a reason. He no longer needed to explain who he was, I knew. Sebastian Michaelis was mine; my revenge, my retribution, my sin. There was no mistaking this feeling any longer, though deep down I wanted to deny it. The truth fell upon me like a pile of stones, crushing me with the knowledge of the life I once sold. 

As far back as I could remember, this life held such little meaning to me; seeming, for all the world, like a pointless farce. Even as a child, happiness was always difficult for Ciel Winterford to find. Everything just felt. . . lifeless. Perhaps it was because this life was never his. Perhaps it belonged to a soul driven by something altogether more sinister. 

I opened my eyes, gazing upon a room that I knew, and yet, it felt foreign to me. With the knowledge I now held, it rather disgusted me, with it's various odours and unnatural lighting. The demon stood before me, his hands still gently wrapped over my shoulders. 

“Are you alright, Mr. Winterford?” he asked, his lips closed and his eyes back to their original state. I glared up at him with an expression of disdain that felt so very comfortable to me. 

“That is not my name,” I growled, “I am Ciel Phantomhive and you will address me as such, you loathsome demon!” His face lit up in a way I had never seen before, almost as though he was excited. I honestly never would have expected him to have missed me; perhaps he didn't, it could've been elation over a second opportunity to feast upon me. Bloody demon. 

He fell to one knee and bowed his head, still with that glimmer of jubilation about his eyes. “Welcome back, my lord,” he said, his voice merry but still calm.

“What are you doing here? Are we still. . . contracted?” I asked, fingering the flesh around my right eye. He looked up at me, his smile fading slightly.

“I regret to say, we are not. I'm afraid I can't properly explain how it is that your soul found this host, however, you have been born anew- though your soul remains primarily unchanged. Our contract was void over a century ago,” he explained. 

“So, what are you doing here then? I have nothing to give you now. Those that I sought revenge after are surely all dead. I don't need you anymore,” I said bluntly. Though it was true, my words were, more or less, intended to rattle him. In true form, he didn't show even a hint of displeasure. It was refreshing to know he hadn't changed.

“Indeed, you are correct. I'm not here to reclaim your soul, Ciel Phantomhive. I'm here for. . .” he explained, taking a moment to chuckle to himself, “companionship.” I tried desperately to stifle my surprise at his words, but I found the reality of them to be utterly unbelievable. To imagine Sebastian desiring companionship was almost laughable. However, I was uplifted to hear his reasons, as I had a proposal of my own.

“And if I were to offer you my soul again, would you take it?” I asked, with an unwavering confidence that I hadn't felt in years. . . or rather, a century. He widened his ruby gaze and chuckled.

“Of course, without hesitation. But is there anything in this world that you covet enough to sell your soul once again?” His smile grew as he awaited my answer. I straightened my posture to ensure he knew exactly which part of my soul he was speaking to. If I was going to do this, I would have to start from scratch. This day would see the death of Ciel Winterford, and the rebirth of Ciel Phantomhive.

“Demon, I would like to forge a contract with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, that's it for chapter 8. Please comment if you have the time. Thanks for reading! ^w^
> 
> Title: In the language of flowers, the Rosemary means “remembrance.” Obviously, they are meant to represent the return of Ciel's memories.


End file.
